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Updated: June 18, 2025
His hair was fragrant with the perfume of the incense, and in his eyes shone all the joy of the Cross. His uncle jogged his head, as he noticed that expression of triumphant peace. 'I have come from the Paradou, he said, abruptly. 'Jeanbernat came to fetch me there. I have seen Albine, and she disquiets me. She needs much careful treatment.
People die at all times, my boy. And he went on to relate that he was now on his way to old Jeanbernat, the steward of the Paradou, who had had an apoplectic stroke the night before. A neighbour, a peasant on his way to Plassans market, had summoned him. 'He must be dead by this time, the doctor continued. 'However, we must make sure.... Those old demons are jolly tough, you know.
Then, after an interval of silence, Jeanbernat slowly said: 'Well, was I not right? There is nothing, nothing, nothing. It is all mere nonsense. He remained standing and began to pick up the roses that had fallen from the bed, throwing them, one by one, upon Albine's skirts.
The Abbe, who by this time had risen, made no answer. He had been on the point of speaking about the Paradou, and asking for some information concerning it. But a fear of being flooded with eager questions, and a kind of vague unavowed shame, made him keep silence respecting his visit to Jeanbernat. He cut all further questions short by asking: 'Where is my sister? I don't hear her.
Then, after a moment's silence, he resumed, in a voice husky with fury: 'It is he, that beggar! I felt sure it was! Thereupon, the new-comer having now reached the bottom of the hill, Abbe Mouret saw that it was Jeanbernat. In spite of his eighty years, the old man set his feet down with such force, that his heavy, nailed boots sent sparks flying from the flints on the road.
At the end of the passage, below the dark staircase, was a door opening into the Paradou, and he could see the vast garden spreading there beneath the pale sunlight, with all its autumn melancholy, its sere and yellow foliage. The doctor hurried through the doorway and took a few steps over the damp grass. 'Ah! it is you, doctor! said Jeanbernat in a calm voice.
He now remembered certain bits of gossip he had heard from La Teuse about the Philosopher, as the peasants of Les Artaud dubbed Jeanbernat. Scraps of scandalous stories vaguely floated in his memory. He rose, making a sign to the doctor that he wished to leave this house, where he seemed to inhale an odour of damnation.
'Listen, he said in conclusion, 'she is yours no longer; you must give her up. But Jeanbernat shook his head, and again waved his hand in token of refusal. However, his obstinate resolution was shaken; and at last he said: 'Well, well, let them take her, and may she break their arms for them! I only wish that she could rise up out of the ground and kill them all with fright.... By the way.
I know nothing of your God! I want to know nothing of Him if He has stolen you away from me, who have never harmed Him. My uncle Jeanbernat was right then when he said that your God was only an invention to frighten people, and make them weep! You are lying; you love me no longer, and that God of yours does not exist. 'You are in His house now, said Abbe Mouret, sternly. 'You blaspheme.
So he came back again, and sought for some hole, some glimpse of that sea of foliage which he knew was near by the mighty murmur that broke upon the house, like the sound of waves. 'And is the little one well? asked the doctor, taking up his hat. 'Pretty well, answered Jeanbernat. 'She's never here. She often disappears all day long still, she may be in the upstair rooms.
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